


Of Smoke and Mirrors

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, First Time, M/M, Porn, Road Trip, Zane!Sylar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-19
Updated: 2009-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are more intimate than sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Smoke and Mirrors

Mohinder wakes still spooning Zane, his skin damp with sweat where their bodies have pressed together in the night, sweltering beneath the heavy motel blankets. He kisses the crook of Zane's neck and gets a drowsy, murmured "Mohinder" in reply. Zane yawns loudly, barely covering his mouth with the back of one hand, still clumsy with sleep and he stretches, arching his back until it cracks with a _pop_ and unwittingly grinding himself against Mohinder's morning erection.

"Oh," he laughs as Mohinder gasps, twisting his upper body backwards to catch Mohinder's eye. He kicks away the covers and lets Mohinder see that his cock is hard too, growing thicker and fuller as they kiss, heedless of cotton mouth and sour breath.

Mohinder's hand rests on Zane's hip and Zane lays his own atop it, their fingers intertwining as Zane breaks his mouth away. He leans his forehead against Mohinder's and, with a faint blush staining his cheeks, he shyly guides Mohinder's hand to his groin.

"Please?" he breathes into Mohinder's lips, eyes fluttering shut at Mohinder's breathless, "_Yes_."

Mohinder rearranges them quickly so that they are spooning once more, Zane relaxing back against Mohinder's chest. Mohinder nuzzles his face against Zane's hair, inhaling the scent of shampoo and freshly laundered sheets. Overnight, his hair has dried in a whorl, unkempt and fluffy without the gel he uses to style it, and Mohinder sighs at the softness against his cheek. He hides the tip of his nose behind Zane's ear and sucks lightly on his earlobe while his hand roams lower.

Mohinder's fingers skitter over Zane's chest, twirling patterns in his chest hair and brushing feather-light over his hardening nipples. When Zane pushes at his hand, urging him downwards faster, Mohinder stifles a chuckle against Zane's neck and takes the hint.

He grips Zane loosely, relishing the weight and girth of his cock in his hand and then squeezes slowly, listening to the pant of Zane's breath, focusing on what makes him cry out the loudest and most breathlessly. Mohinder thumbs the head, pleased to find pre-come pearling there already and he sighs his pleasure against Zane's neck as he spreads the wetness up and down his length.

"Tighter," Zane moans and Mohinder complies.

"Faster," he hisses and Mohinder speeds his strokes.

But the rhythm is still not right because with a frustrated groan, Zane begins to rock his hips, and his hand latches to Mohinder's wrist trying to sync their movements to the pace he needs. Zane writhes against him, huffing out a tortured breath as Mohinder ceases to caress him altogether. He takes Zane's right hand and wraps it around his cock. "Show me," he whispers.

Zane moans uncertainly, his fingers twitching on his length but Mohinder covers his hand with his own and circles both their fingers tight around Zane's dick. "Please," he breathes. "Show me how you like to be touched."

For half a beat, there's nothing but Mohinder's heavy breathing and the steady, thrumming pulse of Zane's erection, and then Zane groans and pulls his hand away from beneath Mohinder's grip. Mohinder's lips part to apologise for asking too much too soon, for putting Zane in a position where he has been forced to say to no, but before he can, Zane brings his left palm to Mohinder's mouth and holds it there for him to lick. "Wrong hand," he mutters, quirking his lips and shrugging his shoulders lazily as he nudges aside Mohinder's fingers to take himself in hand.

Zane touches himself with an easy confidence. His strokes get steadily faster, twisting around the head, teasing the spot below the crown. With a practised flick of his own wrist, Zane makes himself cry out.

Mohinder thinks that this might be more intimate than the fondling hands and roaming mouths of the night before. He thinks that might be more intimate than sex could ever be; seeing Zane at his most private, swept up in and concerned with nothing but his own pleasure. Mohinder's balls feel heavy with want and his cock aches at the sight before him but he pushes aside his own arousal to fully appreciate Zane like this. He rests his lips against Zane's shoulder, peering down the length of Zane's body as his fingers trace fitful circles over the ridge of Zane's hip.

Zane's skin is flushed, and damp with sweat that glistens in the early morning light. His biceps tremble and his hips hitch, and Mohinder watches as the muscles of his abdomen tense and relax with the slide of his hand. He tangles his feet with Zane's and feels Zane's toes curling against the arch of his foot as they twist in a crumpled knot of sheets and blankets at the base of the bed.

Mohinder drags his fingertips absently through the thick nest of pubic hair around Zane's base, tugging lightly at the coarse curls as he strokes the skin below. He feels Zane flush at the touch. He whimpers, and the hand on his cock falters when Mohinder ruffles the hair, raking from the root of his cock to where the curls thin out at the crease between thigh and crotch. Mohinder recalls Zane's stammering apologies from the night before at the sight of Mohinder's own neatly trimmed groin, and he sees again the blush that burned Zane's cheeks when Mohinder sucked him off, holding the hair at bay with thumb and forefinger wrapped loosely around his dick.

Mohinder's heart aches at resigned loneliness that must have consumed him, living a life where the mere possibility of intimacy seemed so farfetched as to not be worth preparing for. He tilts Zane's chin and kisses him fiercely as the urge to protect him, to whisk him away from such a listless existence washes over him. Mohinder wants to show Zane what he has been missing in all those years he has kept himself aloof from the world.

"Shh," he whispers in Zane's ear. Mohinder rolls his hips against Zane's back, reassuring him with words and the heavy press of his erection that nothing about Zane turns him off. "It's ok," he insists.

Still, when Zane laughs uncomfortably in reply, Mohinder moves his attention elsewhere. He caresses Zane's inner thighs and fondles his sac, squeezing lightly in time to the quickening slide of Zane's fist along his length.

"So close," Zane pants, and Mohinder can feel Zane's orgasm approaching in his balls; the skin of his sac pulls tauter, the outline of each of his testicles standing in high relief against Mohinder's palm. Mohinder kneads them softly, pressing them up to Zane's body, feeling them jerk closer still to the base of Zane's cock as Zane's hips buck and he thrusts himself into his hand.

"Mohinder, I'm gonna--"

"_Yes_," he whispers huskily.

Zane's body curls forward and Mohinder's follows, hard nipples sliding over his sweat-slicked back. Zane comes with a strangled grunt, and Mohinder's gaze flickers from his face – mouth hanging open in a frozen, pleasured gasp; eyes squeezed shut in rapture – to his cock, spurting semen in thick pulses, hand still moving, working his spunk back down his hard, flushed length. He strokes himself down and his body relaxes, trembling and shuddering as he moans again, satisfied now and completely lax in Mohinder's embrace.

Mohinder laps the salt from his skin, nuzzling his nose in the damp hair at the nape of Zane's neck as Zane groans contentedly and twists his head back to steal a kiss. Mohinder crosses his arms around Zane's chest, one palm planted firmly in the wiry thatch of his chest hair and the other curling about his ribs to hold him close. He hugs Zane tightly until his heavy breathing eases. When Mohinder loosens his grip, Zane slumps lethargically to the sheets. He buries his head in the pillows, turning his face to the side so that he can watch Mohinder, over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye.

"So gorgeous," Mohinder whispers as he stretches out over Zane's prone body, pressing his lips to Zane's ear. "Thank you," he murmurs. "Thank you for letting me watch you like that."

He kisses Zane softly on the hinge of his jaw, and then angles his head to nibble sweetly at Zane's mouth, lapping the beaded sweat from the stubble on his upper lip. As his words sink in, a blush rises in Zane's cheeks. He shakes his head a little, closing his eyes to the intensity of Mohinder's attention. He tucks his nose deeper between the pillows and conceals his soiled hand modestly beneath the sheets.

Mohinder isn't sure if Zane is feeling shy or perhaps even ashamed, now that his orgasm has come and gone, but the pink tinge spreading to his ears and down his throat is more arousing to Mohinder than it should be. He nips playfully at the spot where Zane's earlobe joins his neck and confesses, "I like it when you blush, Zane. It's really sexy."

Maybe it's sadistic of him, but when Zane's colour deepens further at his words, flushing at having his embarrassment pointed out to him, Mohinder groans at a sudden, heady rush of hormones in his groin. His lust is tempered with a flash of guilt that he should take such pleasure in seeing Zane uncomfortable. So he kisses Zane's neck and shoulders, warding off the blush with his lips until Zane peeks back at him and grins, all white teeth and wide-eyed trust.

Mohinder feels a warmth inside himself at Zane's smile, something more than mere arousal, something that Mohinder thinks he shouldn't be feeling for a man he knows so little about. But then, Mohinder thinks, what more is there to know? Zane wears his heart on his sleeve, his every mood and emotion reading plainly for Mohinder to see. It makes Mohinder want to take him in his arms and keep Zane safe from a world that would strip that artless, unfettered innocence from him.

He kisses Zane quickly, a swift press of lips to lips, and then moves to Zane's shoulders, mouthing down his spine. Mohinder wants nothing more than to keep Zane as he is: utterly unjaded by sex and love and all the myriad complications that come with heartbreak and rejection. Mohinder doesn't want to be the reason that Zane loses his awestruck grin at the gentlest kiss or his breathless pleasure at the simplest touch. So he moves carefully.

"Lie back," he says when Zane tries to twist to face him.

"Let me," he pleads with a touch to the small of Zane's back, urging him to stay sprawled upon his stomach.

He caresses Zane slowly, adoring him with hands and lips and tongue, worshipping the long, pale expanse of Zane's lean back as thoroughly as he is able. He traces the lines of muscles and bones, anointing each rib and vertebra with his touch. He drags his lips along shifting shoulder blades, and nuzzles his face between them. When his hair falls forward and tickles Zane's skin, Mohinder laughs with him, breathless at the unadulterated joy in every sound Zane makes beneath him.

He moves further down and Zane unconsciously spreads his legs, willingly parting them further with nothing but a small gasp, at once both startled and excited, when Mohinder nudges his knees open wider. Mohinder nestles into the space between his thighs and smoothes his palms over the firm curve of Zane's ass, down to the soft skin at the back of his knees. A flick of his fingertips and Zane is laughing once more, squirming happily as Mohinder tickles him. His giggles turn to moans when Mohinder sucks lightly at the base of his spine. With both hands, Mohinder cups his ass. He runs his thumbs down the cleft between Zane's cheeks and spreads him open.

"_Oh_," Zane sighs. He tenses briefly at the unfamiliar sensation of being touched _there_ and then sinks deeper amongst the sheets, body slack and waiting.

"Is this ok?" Mohinder asks, breathing the words into the hollow of Zane's back. A whispered, desperate _yes_ above him is Zane's reply.

He runs his fingers down Zane's crease, stroking him gently to the base of his sac and back again. His fingers are dry, slicked with nothing but the sweat from Zane's skin. The smell of musk and come is thick in the stagnant, recycled air of the motel room, and when Mohinder dips his head to lick a hot, experimental stripe over Zane's asshole, the heady scent trapped close against Zane's body is nearly Mohinder's undoing. But he braces himself against the swell and rush of his own lust and concentrates instead on Zane.

Under his tongue, the hair around Zane's entrance seems coarser, more wild and unwelcome than it had under the caresses of his fingertips. It's been years since Mohinder has been with another man, and, although he enjoys the sharp corners and rough edges that men possess as much as he does the soft curves of women, Mohinder has always preferred his lovers, of either gender, to be immaculately groomed. But, as he spits against Zane's skin, spreading the wetness with the flat of tongue over Zane's puckered flesh and wiry curls, Mohinder is surprised to find that he isn't repulsed at all by Zane's natural state.

It's almost endearing that beneath Zane's calculated quirkiness in dress, from Converse shoes to Ramones t-shirt, and the hours clearly spent gelling and styling hair just _so_ to effect that lazy, casual sexiness that only comes with deliberate effort, Zane should be so unaccustomed to being laid bare. Mohinder's breath catches at this glimpse of Zane behind his stage persona; at being allowed to see him for who he really is, shy and sincere, a man who talks so earnestly of destiny and knows enough about genetics to surely be labelled a 'nerd' by the rest of his band. Mohinder bears witness to a side to Zane that no one else has seen before and his chest grows tight at the unthinking trust that Zane has placed so absolutely in him.

He is awed and pleased and, suddenly, almost hesitant to continue because they've known each other for nothing more than a night and a day, and surely Zane has had good reason for waiting. But in the pause Mohinder takes to collect his thoughts, Zane murmurs above him, "Don't stop. Please, Mohinder, don't stop."

No amount of chivalrous better judgement could induce Mohinder to ignore the raw ache in Zane's words. He spits again on Zane's asshole, swirling the tip of his tongue around the fluttering ring of muscle and scrapes his teeth lightly along Zane's perineum. Mohinder hums against him when he feels Zane's hair snag in the scruff of his stubble.

He pulls away, blowing a hot stream of air down the cleft of Zane's ass and watches, sucking on his fingers, as Zane trembles when Mohinder's warmth recedes from him. Mohinder keeps his gaze trained upon Zane's face, taking in the lip that blanches when trapped between his teeth, watching the crease between his eyebrows as Zane frowns in concentration at every new sensation that subsumes him. Mohinder's fingers probe and twist and breach him, working sight unseen between Zane's legs on instinct and experience alone.

Zane moans and pushes back against Mohinder's hand. He bends at the waist, embracing the pillows tighter between his arms and smothering his cries within them. Zane brings one knee to his chest, spreading himself wider to Mohinder's inquisitive touch and, Mohinder feels a flood of warmth in his gut and his balls at the intuitive way Zane understands his own body. There is no fumbling between them, no awkward yelps of "wait" or "more" or "a little to the left", Zane simply twists, writhes and contorts himself until the pads of Mohinder's fingers are brushing against his prostate, and then he grinds down at the pace he wants to set.

Mohinder follows his lead and fucks him slow and deep, groaning in encouragement when Zane slips a hand between his thighs and strokes himself. He reaches lower and cups his balls, and then his touch strays backwards until he can caress Mohinder's flexing wrist with the tip of his thumb. Mohinder sighs at the gentle touch and Zane's eyes slide open, a bashful half-smile curving his lips for a moment until, with a gasp and a tap of Mohinder's fingers inside him, his mouth tips open in a pleasured groan.

Zane grasps himself, rocking his hips between Mohinder's hand and his own, panting as Mohinder's fingers stretch apart and his own encircle tighter. Sweat glistens along Zane's back, pooling in the hollow between his shoulders and forming a puddle at the topmost curve of his ass. Mohinder flicks his tongue through the wetness, watching Zane's bicep tense and jerk, quicker and quicker, as the salt from Zane's skin dries his mouth and the taste of his sweat floods his palate.

This time, when Zane comes, he's silent save for a muted sigh of release. Around Mohinder's hand, his body spasms, pulling his fingers in deeper and holding him tighter until with a shuddering exhalation, Zane relaxes completely. His second orgasm has been less violent, less of a whole body affair, without the thrashing limbs and desperation of before, but Zane's aftershocks seem twice as shattering. When Mohinder works his fingers free, mindful of the dull ache that will soon assault Zane's gut despite his attempts at being gentle, Zane can do little but hum an almost inarticulate _so good_ to Mohinder's words of post-coital affection and reassurance.

Mohinder wipes his fingers on the sheets and pats Zane dry between his legs. He hisses in sympathy at the sight of Zane's already swollen asshole and tries to soothe him with a gentle finger. Mohinder curses his own lack of foresight for starting this in the morning when they had a day of driving ahead of them. He imagines Zane squirming in the seat beside him for hours on end, suffering from more discomfort than simply that which comes from folding his arms and legs into the too-cramped car. He moans regretfully, smattering apologetic kisses up Zane's sides as he feels a pang of guilt at causing Zane pain, no matter how great the pleasure that accompanied it.

Zane's breathing is slow and shallow, and he barely stirs at Mohinder's kisses. He dozes unselfconsciously, paying no heed to Mohinder's as yet unsatisfied arousal, in the naive way of those for whom masturbation, not making love, is the norm. Zane is still unused to thinking beyond his own pleasure and when he snuffles contentedly against the pillows, Mohinder can't begrudge him a chance to bask in the aftermath of his release.

He kisses Zane's neck, his tongue curling under the sharp line of his jaw. He covers him with his body, Mohinder's chest to Zane's back, Zane's too long limbs sprawling out beneath him as he lies spread-eagled on his belly. Mohinder's cock notches perfectly into the groove of Zane's ass and, though the warm press of skin to skin around his length, caught between their bodies, is almost torturous in the way it teases him, Mohinder doesn't rut against him.

He nuzzles against Zane's neck and rubs his face against his thick, dark hair, greased with sweat and unruly, now, from Mohinder's caresses. Even hard and wanting, cock leaking in the small of Zane's back, Mohinder thinks that he could stay like this forever, with nothing but himself to stand between the world and Zane. He hooks his chin over Zane's shoulder, his temple resting against Zane's cheek as he wraps himself completely around him, trapping him, safe and warm and evermore untainted by the despair that seems to follow in Mohinder's wake.


End file.
